Torn apart
by Flag
Summary: They were torn apart by necessity, then thrown back together through fate: Sodas injury in Vietnam brings him back together with the one person he thought he'd never see again. Sandy's job puts her in a position she could never have foreseen...
1. Chapter 1

A/N: It's been a long time coming, but I'm finally fixing this fic and plan on finishing it :) I'm adding things, so if you've read it before you may want to reread (although theres nothing vitally important thats new), and if you haven't read it before, enjoy!

It wasn't all that busy of a day, which is pretty rare around here. We're always stitching someone up or giving them pills or taking bullets out of their backs. I guess that's war, but I sure don't like it. I'm thankful that I'm just a nurse, not even a doctor, and definitely not a soldier. I see enough blood as it is, and I'm not even out there fighting.

There hadn't been anyone new for three days, and even though no one said it, I'm pretty sure we all knew it was the calm before the storm. I didn't really want anyone else getting hurt, but it would be nice to see someone else for a change; someone with both eyes and all limbs, or to hear a different voice. Being around the same people, or the same injuries, really wears you down after a while. Besides, it gets you thinking about things you don't want to think about, and around here there's a lot you don't want to think about. Somehow though, I knew something was going to happen- I think we all did.

"Miss?" someone asked, and I turned around, fully alert- you have to be alert around here, or else you'll get your ass chewed out for disrespecting an officer, or for not being ready to work. I relaxed a little when I saw it was Doc Rossberg- he's an alright guy, a heck of a lot nicer than most of the doctors. He was sincere while the rest of them put on a fake, hopeless smile to make people feel good. I liked him a fair bit- most of the doctors were always on your back about something or another, and I could hardly stand it half the time.

"You feeling alright?" he asked me and I sighed.

"Yeah."

He nodded in a way that let me know that he knew I didn't want to talk about whatever was on my mind, and he continued on my way. Usually I would have liked to have a chat- I'm a fairly chatty person- but I was in a mood where I didn't really know what the heck was bothering me, so there was no way I could tell him.

This place gives people a lot of wierd feelings and bizarre thoughts and mood swings- we'd had to let a doctor go home a couple of weeks ago because he wasn't able to control himself. One second he'd be cheery and the next he'd be screaming like a raving lunatic- sometimes I didn't think I was very far away from that.

The rest of the day went by until dusk like that- nothing big happening and me doing my duty in a daze which isn't a good thing when you're a nurse, but I didn't manage to screw up.

Just after darkness though, the day changed. I was just finishing my dinner, if you can call it that, when a call came through the door- "Any nurses?" It was sounding pretty frantic, and it kind of suprised me. Usually, people came in by helicopter, and I hadn't heard any rotor blades. Usually the sound gave us a couple of minutes to wash our hands and get our thoughts together before we were needed. I hated it when that happened, though- I mean when I was free when a call came. I didn't want to be one of the first people to see the damaged bodies

some of which were either dead or dying by the time they got to us. It wasn't a pretty sight to see, but I usually was one of the free nurses at the time a call came. I guess life's funny that way, making us do the things we hate most.

When I stepped out though, I saw it was worse than what I had thought. There were dozens of men there- no, boys, they couldn't be much older than 18. A couple of older guys were there too, but most of them looked younger than me. And they all looked pretty badly wounded. I didn't know which was worse, looking at them all or the shouting that was going on.

Seeing all these boys and men, it made me truly glad that I was female. There was a lot of womans rallies and stuff going on back home, someone had told me that she'd heard one where women were protesting wearing skirts in public. They wanted to be equal to men, but I didn't think women would ever be able to live like these soldiers were. This made me glad that I was female.

"Ambushed just up the road-"

"Didn't even see them coming-"

"Got a few dead back there, going to have to look after-"

"Got some of the fuckers back though!"

"You!" one of the doctors said to me. "You and Ghalliger here sort them out, in priority! Mark them!"

I looked beside me, and Ghalliger was looking as appalled as I felt. Of course, we didn't hate our jobs, but me and her were friends and we both hated the look of blood. Don't ask why we were nurses, but there was something out here that called to me. Maybe looking after people, since I never had been good at it before.

"You take the left?" she said to me, and I nodded before moving off, feeling disgusted. There should never be enough injured people in one place that you have to split up to mark who needs urgent care. It reminded me of a big car crash, back home, just before I'd came out here, where a station wagon had hit a truck and there was half a dozen injured children laying around, waiting to be helped. It was like this all the time though, sorting people- who was going to die, who needed emergency attention, and who could wait until everyone else was looked after?

I knelt down to see what was wrong with the first guy I got to on my side- I saw anything wrong with him except a deep cut on his face—and that he was apparently bleeding somewhere else because he was drenched in blood. When I wiped a bit of the blood off his face to see where it was coming from, I felt my heart drop to my stomach, because there, in front of me, was Sodapop Curtis, Tulsa heartthrob.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Yup, chapter 2 has been changed and switched around as well.

"Soda?" I said. His eyes were closed and he was bleeding pretty badly. I didn't really know how to treat him – it had been a little over two years since I had seen him, and we didn't part on the best of terms. Was he someone who should be treated like just another soldier, or like an ex-boyfriend, or like a friend? We'd never been trained how to deal with people that we knew.

"Soda?" I asked again, obviously to no reply. I didn't know what the heck to do- treat him as a patient or as a friend? I wasn't overly sure that he was even alive for a minute, he was so still—but I felt for a pulse and felt one, so I knew he was still alive. He was bleeding pretty bad, but what was I to do?

Then I did something that I've regretted ever since- I moved on. I didn't assess him or anything, just moved on to the next injured soul, hoping that by the time I got back around that someone else might have sorted him out. I'd left Tulsa planning on never seeing again, and I made that wish again. Seeing him there, with his hair short and face cut was nearly enough to send me into tears. So I moved on, not looking back.

One – no pulse, marked as dead. I thought he'd probably been dead from the minute he was shot, judging by the brain I could see spattered on his uniform.

Two - shot in arm, could wait. It didn't look too serious- if he was lucky, he'd be sent home for it. If he were unlucky, they'd stick a bandage on it and send him back out there.

Three – bullet in knee, needed attention. Legs always seemed to bleed pretty bad, especially knees. I'd learnt it in school, that bone injuries are extremely bad, but it always surprised me to see how bad it was. Judging by how the guy was screaming and trying to push me away, I'd guess that he was pretty surprised too.

Four – no pulse, marked as dead. No visible injury, but I didn't turn him over.

I lost track out there after a while. It was the first time I'd ever seen so many injured all at once, but then again I'd only been out there for a few weeks. Who knew what I'd see if I stayed out here for a few more? I'd never seen an ambush before, or the results.

For a while, I thought someone had been watching over me and I'd never have to see Sodapop Curtis again. When I'd made it back to where he had been, he wasn't there, meaning that someone else had taken him where he needed to be. I briefly hoped that he would be alright, but I didn't waste very much time thinking about it. I'd tried to avoid thinking about him for over two years now, and I had no reason to start again- he was just another soldier who I hoped would be okay, but you can't get attatched out here. If you get attatched, your heart gets broken.

My hope lasted a little more than two hours.

I had just finished disinfecting my hands, which I did a little too often around here, when Doc Rossberg called me over.

"Do you have a minute?" he asked me and I felt my heart flutter. Not now, I told my conscience, but I couldn't help the butterflies in my stomach. It drove me insane, knowing that he was married and that I was single and that I could never do anything about it. For a lot of people out here, marriage didn't matter one bit, but for him it did.

"Yeah," I told him. Knowing he was married wouldn't stop me from spending time with him- professionally, of course.

"Hold this," he said, passing me a rag, picking up his instruments and walking over to a bed. On it laid a soldier not wearing a shirt, which showed a very tanned back, a section of which was bandaged.

"Poor fellow…" the Doc said as he set to work removing the bandages. "Got a shot right here," he said, indicating a place beneath the bandages just below the left shoulder blade. "Woke up right while I was taking it out, brave guy… Can't imagine how much it must have hurt… Very brave though, just let me put him out again… Might get infected…" He was half talking to me, half talking to himself as he worked bandaging the wound again. I wasn't paying too much attention, I guess I was admiring him too much, because before I knew it he was staring at me and asking "Andrews?"

"Huh?" I asked. I hate it when that happens— when I look like an idiot in front of him, I mean, because he would know I hadn't been listening. You've got to listen out here or people could die.

"I've got to go to the rest of them, can you watch him?"

"Watch him?" I asked, and he gave me a smile that clearly said 'You haven't been listening, have you?'

"Watch for a fever, make sure his heart is good, watch for bleeding around the wound… Just for a few hours."

"Sure… Things are quieting down around here," I told him.

He shrugged. "If he wakes up, try to keep him calm, alright? Don't let him roll over… I'll be back in a bit." With that, he set off to finish his rounds, and I was left with the soldier, so I sat down and started looking through the possessions on the makeshift table beside him. A box of matches, a couple of letters that were so worn I couldn't make out the address, and dogtags. Just what he carried on him, nothing too interesting. I shouldn't have been nosing around, but there's just so long that you can watch someone sleep for before it gets boring.

Then, of course, I flipped the dang nametags over. I didn't have to know the guys name, no one would ask, I didn't need to know, but out of boredom, a flipp changed that. I thought I'd see something like 'Joe Brown' or 'Sam Black', so needless to say I was a bit surprised to see 'Sodapop Curtis'. There was something unreal about that moment—connecting the name on the tag to the person on the bed. It was in that moment I realized this war was for real, everyone that was dying was cared about by someone, and their deaths were real- when their flag draped coffins eventually made it back to the United States, they didn't stand up and yawn after a good sleep- when someone died over here, it was for real.

Time past slowly, I could almost hear time ticking even though there were no clocks. I knew he would wake, I knew it… After what felt like forever, I heard him groan. Oh hell, I thought, He's waking up. Then he moved, so I put my hand on the shoulder that wasn't injured.

"Stay there," I said, in what I thought was a soothing voice.

"Wha…?" I didn't know what he was trying to ask since he had just woken up from a drug induced sleep and was probably feeling groggy.

"Your at the hospital, you were hurt… Your shoulder…"

"I know," he said, but I wasn't quite sure what he was talking about, so I didn't say anything about that. Was he saying he knew he was injured, or was he just speaking to hear his own voice? A lot of the time, when guys over here first wake up, they don't make sense for quite a while.

"What's your name?" I asked him, hoping he wouldn't worry about where he was, or what was happening.

He shook his head a little, like he was trying to clear his mind.

"What's your name?" he asked me without answering me.

"Sandy Andrews," I answered without thinking. Had I thought, I would have asked him what his name was again, but I guess I was back to treating him like everyone else. A lot of soldiers will do that if you question them; they won't answer until they know who you are. I think it's because they're trained not to tell anything about themselves incase they're captured or something; I wouldn't know, I'm just a nurse.

I looked at him to see his reaction, but by the time I did he was out like a light.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Yes, Chapter 3 has also been reworked.

I woke up with something tickling my nose, and I couldn't figure out what it was for a minute- sleeping here really puts you out of it, because when you go to sleep, you're actually tired and really need the rest. I had the crazy idea, for a minute, that I was at home and it was something my baby was doing, but then I remembered that I wasn't at home and didn't have a baby. Reality is always like a slap to the face when it hits you.

"Wake up, sleepy brain…" someone said to me and something tickled my nose. "Wake up… Come on, it's morning…" I moved my head and pushed away whatever it was that was by my face, opening my eyes to see it was a deep pink rose.

"Where'd you get that?" I asked Barbara, who was a nurse and one of my friends. She was dressed for the day's work, and I realized that I must have fallen asleep during the night when I was supposed to be watching Soda. Doc Rossenberg wouldn't be happy with me.

"Ron gave it to me," she told me. Ron had been a patient she had taken care of about a week prior, when he had came down with pneumonia. "Said he didn't know when he'd see me again. Don't know where the hell he got it.. I don't think they grow around here, and they sure as hell don't sell them... But he gave it to me and said he was thankful that I was looking after him and he hoped that after the war he'd meet me again so he could thank me properly… Heck, I don't even know when he got it…" She was silent for a moment. "Sure is the prettiest thing around here right now."

"I fell asleep…" I said, leaning over and checking Soda's pulse, ignoring what she had just told me. She's my friend and everything, but sometimes she can just talk on and on. Half of what she said went in one side of my head and came out the other without me stopping to think about what she had said. Most of it was just gossip or silly stories anyways.

"Yeah, and so I woke up when I saw-"

"Get Doc Rossberg, will you?" I asked her, keeping my hand on Soda's neck where I had checked his pulse. Barb gave me a funny look, like she was mad that I had interrupted her, so I added "Now?" and she made off.

"What did I do…" I asked myself as I grabbed a towel off the table and poured some water from my cup on it. "Get a little sleep and he starts sweating and must have a fever…" He was burning up, I didn't even have to touch him to see it. He was sweating, and his skin looked warm. I was mad at myself for letting this happen to someone I knew- or anyone, for that matter. I wasn't supposed to fall asleep on the job.

"It has to be me, doesn't it?" I asked, looking down at him. It was nice to talk to him, even though I knew he couldn't hear me. So many nights I'd daydreamed about talking to him, imagined it, wished that I could talk to him. I sat down beside him, this time on the edge of his bed, and started to cry. Everything I had been holding inside came out, and I couldn't stop it. Why had I left to Florida? Why had I hurt Soda? Why had I lost my child? Why had I joined the war? Why was it me, now, that had to look after him? Why was I so damn stupid that my life seemed to fall apart and go wrong in every turn I took?

"Sandy?" someone asked, and I turned around and saw Doc Rossberg behind me, and he put his hand on my shoulder. "You alright?" he asked me.

"Yeah... I'm alright," I assured him, quickly wiping my eyes while trying to make it look like I was fixing my hair. I stood up, trying to act casual. I didn't know how long I had sat on Soda's bed for, crying, but I didn't want to make a big deal out of it. I hadn't told anyone that I knew Soda, which is kind of strange I guess, because Soda's the kind of guy girls brag over. I didn't plan on telling anyone either. "He's got a fever…" I said, trying to keep my voice even.

"I see that…" he said, and I looked at him. He had is stethoscope out and was writing something on his charts. "How long has he had it for?"

Questions like that have a habit of popping up; just the kind you don't want to be asked are always asked at the exact time when you don't feel like answering them. "I dunno…" I said, looking at my feet.

"You don't know?"

"Well… I fell asleep," I told him and he didn't look at me but made a little bit of a huffing noise. Then he shot me an understanding glance. I hated myself for the way it made me feel a bit warm inside.

"It was nighttime, I guess that's what people do."

He gave Soda a shot of something and looked at me. "This should keep his fever down… Stay with him, will you? Try not to fall asleep this time…" I nodded, and he left. I didn't really want to stay with Soda, incase I had another good cry and someone else was around, but it was my duty and I knew it, so I intended on doing it without screwing up again.

So, I sat next to Soda in a hard wooden chair for a long time, thinking. There's not much you can do when your sitting in a chair, looking at someone who's not conscious. I thought about everything; meeting him, loving him, losing him, losing my grandmother and losing my baby. Had I known I would have a miscarriage, maybe I never would have left Tulsa in the first place and things could be different. I wouldn't be here, I wouldn't have had to watch my grandmother die, and maybe I would know where I belong in the world. That's why I joined the war, really, I didn't know who I was or what I was supposed to do in life, and I thought maybe war would help me find myself; but from what I've seen, it hasn't. It's made me more confused than ever.

My mind was starting to play games with me, and I think it was because I hadn't had anything to eat since the morning and had nothing to do. I was imagining all sorts of crazy things- like that he stopped breathing, which would make me check his pulse. I would imagine he looked hotter, so I would touch his skin... I think I was just using any excuse to tough him- it was something that I had been longing to do since I'd first seen him, yet was a compulsion I couldn't disobey. After a while, I could see a difference in his breathing. It went from the deep calm breathing of sleep to being heavy and somewhat ragged, and I could tell he was coming to, so I leaned forward so that I was nearer to him.

"Sandy?" he asked, and reached out and grabbed my wrist. I'd long ago forgotten his touch.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Chapter 4 now fixed :)  
Oh, and I still don't own Sandy or Soda.

"Hey Soda," I said to him. I didn't know whether I should say anything or not. Maybe I should have pretended to be someone else- he probably didn't need to be aggravated by an ex girlfriend when he first woke up after being shot.

He blinked slowly before asking, "Are we in Tulsa?"

"No…" I said. Without realizing it, I put my hand on his forehead and felt his hair. I jerked my hand away a second later, when I remembered that we were in Vietnam and he was a patient, nothing more. I longed to put my hand back on his head, to feel his hair, his face, his skin- something to tell me that he was really there. It was so easy to lose grip with reality sometimes out here, but I felt like he was anchoring me back to earth.

He sighed a sad sigh. "That's what I thought…" He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again he looked at me and asked, "What are you doing here?"

After what I'd done to him all those years ago, I'd expected to hear anger, or malice, or something other than what I heard in his voice, but he asked it in a typical Sodapop Curtis fashion with his voice calm and full of concern. That's Soda for you though, always full of surprises.

"I'm a nurse," I told him, but far from relieving him, he got a concerned look on his handsome young face.

"What about your baby?" I thought I heard a hint of something other than genuine concern at the word 'your', but it's a touchy subject for me, so I figured I had imagined it.

"I lost it…" I said, looking down because I felt miserable both about the baby and for having been so rotten to Soda all those years back. I thought maybe he'd be able to see how I was feeling by looking at my face - he was always good at telling how a person felt. "How's the shoulder feeling?"

"Is that what's been bugging me? I've been wondering what the hell was hurting me so much."

I smiled a little at that, because usually all I hear from soldiers is them talking about how beautiful I am, or a full-blown account of how they got injured and how they could have prevented it had they not been outnumbered so badly. It always sounded like they were trying to impress me, and I guess it wasn't surprising since the only females in the war were nurses, but it was nice to have a change. Soda wasn't trying to impress me. I didn't think Soda had ever tried to impress a girl, but nearly every girl tried to impress him.

"You feel alright?" I asked him, trying to think of him as only a patient, not realizing I had asked almost the same questions seconds before. I was quickly finding out that I couldn't think of him as just a patient- the possibility of that ever happening had vanished as soon as I'd seen him laying outside, covered in blood.

"Yeah… Am I going to be okay?"

I smiled. "Yeah Soda, you're going to be fine…" I wasn't sure though, the doctor hadn't really checked him out yet, and to me the wound looked awfully close to his spine. But I wasn't the doctor, so I wasn't going to tell him he might not be alright. He didn't need to hear bad news from me ever again, I'd given him enough of it.

Even if he was physically alright though, I knew he'd never be the same person. It was like that with my dad, my mom told me. He'd been a nice guy before the big war, but after it he'd been a wreck, nervous all the time and mean. I hoped Soda wouldn't be like that, but I knew he wouldn't be the same, and I the thought of him not being the same cheerful person brought tears to my eyes, so I looked away. He'd always been a great guy- maybe the war wouldn't change him all that much.

"You look different," Soda said to me, so I blinked away my tears and looked back at him.

"So do you…" I told him, and it was true. He looked so much older, and even though his hair was cut close to his head, it fit him perfectly. He looked a bit taller, and somehow more mature. He didn't look all that cheery anymore, either.

"I mean it… Your hair is so long… You look older."

He was right. I'd grown my hair our about another foot before deciding to stop growing it- I'd heard that really long hair could cause blindness. And of course I looked older- last time I'd seen Soda I'd been a 16 year old highscool student, now I was a 19 year old college graduate.

"I mean it too," I told him. "Only your hair is shorter…" It was still silky looking and so blonde, the only change was the length- it was just like everyone else in the military, but he still stood out. "You look older too." I didn't know whether it was because he was older or whether it was a look the war had given him- I'd heard that war made people look older.

He started to reach up to touch his hair, but stopped abruptly. "Aw fuck," he said, and cringed, putting his arm gently back on the bed. I gave him a look, and he simply said, "Arm," and I remembered that we were in Vietnam. For a while it had seemed that we were back in Tulsa, having a friendly talk at the Dingo. "At least my hair grows fast," he told me with a smile.

I laughed a little. "You'd look good no matter what your hair looked like… You'd look great bald." It was true, I didn't see how anything could ruin his good looks.

Cocking an eyebrow as if he thought I was lying, he said, "Sure, sure," then asked me " How long have you been a nurse for?"

"Not long," I answered, looking around, remembering that a doctor would probably be here shortly. They made their rounds fairly often, especially when there was a lot of people here. "How long have you been here?"

He frowned a little. "What day is it?"

"Monday… The 23rd."

"The 23rd?" he asked, his eyes widening. "Where's Steve?"

"Steve?"

"Steve. He was with me…. Where is he?" he asked me, and I could tell he was getting really worked up about it.

"He's fine," I told him, even though I had no idea who he was talking about. Wasn't Steve Soda's friend from Tulsa? Maybe Soda wasn't feeling quite as okay as I had thought.

"He's fine?" Soda asked.

"He's fine."

He sighed, but still looked unsettled. "Been here three months and sixteen days." I was glad he had changed the subject again.

"So I see you're up," a voice said, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Everything going alright now, Sandra?"

I stood up and turned around to face the doctor. "Yes… His fever's gone," I told him.

"Good… You can go, if you want, get some rest…" Talking to Soda, I'd forgotten how tired I actually was, but I was about to drop on my feet.

"Come find me later," the doctor said, and waved me off.

I nodded, and said, "See you later Soda," and started to walk away

I took two steps, but Soda touched my wrist and said, "I ain't mad at you, you know that right?"

I smiled and continued walking, thinking that a nap would be the best thing I could have.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: IT'S A MIRACLE!

If, by chance anyone hasn't ran off to more reliable authors and by some miracle hasn't abandoned this fic, I wouldn't mind a few reviews. I'll update soon if I get some! Promise! Wow, a promise I'll actually KEEP!  
Disclaimer: Don't own them.

When I laid in bed later that night, tossing and turning, my mind was racing with a hundred thoughts at once. So much had happened in such a short amount of time… I'd always had a hard time of not thinking about Soda, but now it was impossible to push him from my mind. I didn't think too much of the past, but thought mostly of the present. How on earth had he gotten into this mess? How had I gotten into it?

I couldn't stop thinking about Steve either. Soda had asked about him, and since then I'd been wracking my mind thinking of him. He'd been Soda's best friend in Tulsa, him and Evie went on double dates with me and Soda fairly often. I was pretty sure his last name was Randle, but I wasn't sure since it had been so long ago since I'd heard it. He was a little mouthy, but a nice guy… Not like Soda though. No one was like Soda. While thinking about Soda I drifted off into an uneasy sleep filled with dreams of better places and better times.

----

The sun poured in through the tent, waking me long before I wanted to be woken. I stood up and stretched my limbs- if you didn't do that fast, usually you wouldn't find time for it at all- got changed into my proper attire, and went out into the sunlight. As soon as I took a breathe, the reek of death hit my senses and I knew something awful must have happened the night before, so I did what my senses told me to do; went and checked on Sodapop.

I could hear cursing before I even neared Post Op, and the voice was definitely one I recognized very well. I realized that I wasn't going to have time for breakfast that day.

"What the hell do you mean, I can't go see him? Listen Doctor-" the word were spat out with a venomous tone, "I don't care if he doesn't have half an ear, or half a face. Damnit, I don't care if he's missing both legs, an arm and all the fingers on his other hand! I don't care if I don't have my entire shoulder! I ain't going to be getting better when I can't even do some walking, or some talking to my buddy who I've known before I met Mr. Draft-"

"Curtis, I-"

"Talk to me when I'm sedated."  
I pushed open the doors and saw exactly what I thought I was going to see. Soda was propped up on a cot against some pillows, arms crossed and looking like a little boy who had just had his cookie taken away for spitting in Suzie Crinkles hair. Dr. Sydney was standing across from him, clipboard in hand, looking disgruntled. A few other patients had sat up and were looking at the pair curiously.

Dr. Sydney was a major, but didn't get the respect he had earned. Hardly anyone stopped to salute him, but he didn't care much, he didn't salute anyone either. He was an old man- in his 60's at least- and his white hair and wrinkled face showed it.

"Fanshire!" he called out, and a nurse that I hadn't even noticed came forward. "Look after this man, will you? He needs a shot of penicillin."

"No I-" started to protest, but he was cut off before he could get into his full steam.

"I am the doctor here, Curtis. We'll see what we can do." With that, he turned and walked out into the sunlight, motioning for me to follow.

"I hear you've taken to looking after that boy," he said, nodding his head towards the doors of which we had just come.

"Curtis? Yes, I have… We're from the same hometown, Tulsa."

"Ah," he said with a smile. "There's another boy here from Tulsa… Steven Randle… They're friends from way back, you see, and Curtis wants to see him…"

I nodded my head thoughtfully, as if I didn't already know every word he was saying. I knew what he was going to say next, but I wasn't all that sure how I would reply.

"I'm not sure he's ready to see him though, they're both injured… Curtis' shoulder, chipped a bit of his spine along with it... And, well, Randle… He's a sight to see. Part of his face is missing, from his ear to his jaw was ripped clean off… We stitched him up as best we could, but he's a bastard about being touched. Hoping to ship him back to the States as soon as we can, we can't deal with that kind of bull shit here, it's too busy for that."

I nodded again, hoping that soon he'd get to his point. "And Curtis?"

"He'll be going back to the states as well, but first we have to operate… See how bad the damage is, but they'll end up working at him back home, we all know they have more equipment there… But he's not ready, yet.

"But you see, Andrews… Curtis… He'd like a wolf when you confront him. Won't let you touch him hardly unless you update him on how his buddy is doing… What he said is right, he won't do any good until he sees Steven… If we keep him caged, well, I don't think he'll do very good, and it might be worth letting them see each other."

"And you want me to take Curtis over to where Steve is?" I cringed at calling Soda Curtis so many times.

"That's exactly what I'd like you to do… later today sometime when you're free for a while. I think it would do Curtis a lot of good, maybe Randle would get a bit out of it to, but I'm not going in there to ask him." He jerked his head towards another building. "He's over there. End of the row, few beds away from everyone else, always made too much of a fuss, disturbing everyone…"

"But-" I started, but he cut me off.

"Thanks Sandy," he said with a smile. "I knew you'd do it." Before I could slip another word in, he was off to the supply tent, ending the discussion.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: If anyone has a title suggestion, I'm open for it since the title is exactly the opposite of what the story is about, which doesn't make any sense. And I know, I suck at updating, I PROMISE next time I'll be faster. And next time I'll actually get to the meat   
Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton's. Not mine.

"Come on Sandy, let's go already," Soda was saying, tapping me on the knee in a rhythm that reminded me of classical music. He'd been asking me to see Steve ever since I had told him we would go, not that I was surprised; if I'd come to realize anything about them, it was that they were close. They'd been through everything together since second grade.

"Soda, he's not even going to be around for another half an hour," I said, glancing at my watch. "The doctors are evaluating his situation right now, and then he's not going to be conscious enough to talk for another half an hour to forty five minutes, so you've got an hour to spend, so relax and enjoy."

"Situation? What kind of a situation? We all have situations around here, how about you tell me what his fucking situation is that you've been avoiding, Sandy?" He stopped tapping my knee, and his voice that was usually so full of cheer was full of poison. He'd been getting more and more irritable since I'd come in, and now seemed to be starting to sweat.

"I haven't been avoiding it," I told him.

"Yeah, yeah… Then why won't you take me?"

"Because…" I couldn't think of a reason, since I had been avoiding the subject of Steve like the plague. If he reacted in a way like this, I was glad I was; I knew he wouldn't like talking about it, but I didn't think he'd be so upset about it. "You haven't written your family yet, and we haven't been able to get in contact with them."

"And I don't want to get in contact with them."

"Why not Soda?" I asked, gently reaching out to touch his knee. He was still only lying down, with very little exercise as to not strain himself.

"I can't write," he told me, but I had the feeling that he was lying, so I gave him a questioning look. He responded with jerking his head towards his shoulder, which was heavily wrapped in bandages.

"Oh," I said with a smile. "Want me to get some paper? I'll write."

"Don't you have something better to do?" he asked. It was true; I did have things to do. I'd been doing that more and more lately; spending time with Soda and less time doing my actual duties. I was happy to have someone I knew around; I'd spent a while with the rest of the doctors and nurses here, but it felt like watching a cheap movie- I knew what they wanted me to know, but I knew nothing about them that actually mattered. I kept thinking they were cheap. Soda was someone I knew though, or at least I felt I did, and he reminded me of Tulsa.

I tapped the side of the bed twice. "I'll be back in half an hour."

--------

I waved to Soda from the other end of the room when I entered to see him; I'd done what I'd been needed for, and was a few minutes early. I saw Soda jerk a little when he saw me, and put down a cigarette case when I came over to him. He didn't have a cigarette, of which I was glad; I'd seen him smoking once and had to tell him not to do it indoors, to which he'd made a crack about 'intent' that I hadn't understood right away. I didn't know why he needed the case anyways; he was staying indoors so he couldn't smoke, and I'd picked it up once while he was with the doctors and it felt like he only had one or two smokes in it. I left him to it; apparently it had some sort of value to him.

"Half an hour yet?" he asked me, and he sounded and looked a little like he'd just woken up.

"Half an hour."

"Great." He stretched an arm and a leg, then the other leg. "And what is that?" he asked, pointing at the wheelchair I was holding the handles of.

"Your taxi service," I told him with a smile.

"I don't need any taxi service," he said, his tone switching to one that reminded me of a growling bear. "Nothing is wrong with my legs."

"Soda, I'm the nurse-"

"You're the cheater."

I almost lost my nerve at that; I could have hightailed it out of there right then and never turned back, ran all the way back to America, changed my name and never had another thought of Soda; I would have been perfectly happy with that. He'd hardly ever mentioned that there had been an 'us' before, and we'd never talked about what happened to me, other than what we did the first days he was there. I was seriously thinking about running then, but pride held me back.

"Listen Soda… Do you want to see Steve or not?"

With a sound almost like a growl, Soda grabbed his cigarette case and stood up before I could even go over to give him a hand.

"I don't need a hand," he told me, pushing away my arm from where I had offered it to him for a hand.

"Soda, you can't go walking around, it puts pressure on your spine which-"

"Just show me the way Sandy, will you?" he asked, still in the horrible, growling voice.

"Not until you sit down." With that, he dropped into the wheelchair, and threw up his one good hand in defeat.

What was I to do but wheel him to his best friend?


	7. Chapter 7

1A/N: A year!? Where did the time go? I'll get more prompt, I PROMISE! Sorry if some of this seems a bit repetitive- I'm sort of trying to remind of what's happening without repeating, since it's been so long...

The tent flap rippled a little in the light breeze that floated around the air. I didn't want to go to the tent, I was getting more reluctant with each step- I could feel it through the handles of the wheelchair that Soda was getting more and more anxious with each foot. I wondered what it would be like to have a friend like that- one that didn't care about looks, or his own discomfort, or anything except who you are as a person. Here though, in the middle of Vietnam, there was no such thing as a good friend- people got transferred all the time, and couldn't become that good of friends.

"Well..." I said, pausing for a moment. "Here we are."

The response was a grunt, and he started to get out of the chair.

"No no!" I told him, pushing the chair forward a little and knocking him back into it. "Don't strain yourself, I'll take you in." With a deep breath, we entered the tent.

The smell of sanitation assaulted my nose almost immediately; it wasn't quite the smell as a hospital, but it was as close as you could get in a tent in the middle of a jungle. The smell of sweat was mixed with the smell of rubbing alcohol, but if you could ignore that, you could almost imagine being in a room with four solid walls.

"Randle..." I muttered to myself as we started to walk down the center isle between the two rows of beds that lined the inside of the tent. "Randle Randle..." I was watching the clipboards fastened to the bottom of the beds as we went.

"Oh dear..."

We'd reached a bed which was Steve's, but it was empty. The bed was made neatly, the pillows fluffed, and sheets washed. Why had Doc Sydney said we should bring Soda to see him, when he wasn't here? When he was... gone?

"What the fuck, Sandy?" Soda asked, surprising me. I'd forgotten he'd been there, had been thinking of him as if he'd been somewhere else... Before I could stop him, he was on his feet and slouched over to the end of the bed and grabbed his clipboard.

"What does this mean? Severe facial lacerations...? Where the hell is he? Demerol?"

I was having a hard time understanding what he was asking, he was flipping between his own questions and what he was reading off the clipboard far too fast.

"You okay, Soda?" I asked him, and gently took the clipboard out of his hands. He had a surprisingly strong grip for someone with a severe shoulder injury.

"I'm fine," he said, with a boyish huff as he sat down on the bed. "Want to tell me were the hell Steve is?"

"Soda, stay there for a second and I'll go find out where Steve is." Of course, the sinking feeling in my stomach was a pretty good indication of where Steve was, but I didn't want to think of it.

"Don't you work here?" he asked me, in what I thought was an accusing tone.

"Not.. Here..." I said, gesturing around the tent. "I work with people like you- people who aren't that serious... Now hang on while I go find someone."

Thankfully, I didn't have far to look for a nurse.

"Barbra," I said, pulling her arm a few steps towards the door, to be sure Soda wouldn't hear.

"I see your hanging around that Soda character a lot." she said, jerking her head towards where Soda was sitting on the bed, flipping through Steve's chart that I had given back to him.

"I'll tell you later..." I told her, not wanting to get into a long winded discussion while Soda waited for me. "Where'd you move Steve Randle?"

"Why do you want that cranky ass?" she asked me, but when she saw I was getting impatient, she added "He's down there, behind the curtain. Was being a real pain in the ass and disturbing everyone else out here, might have to make him his own little tent if he doesn't stop all this crap."

"Come find me later..." I told her, interested in hearing more about Steve. "But do me a favor... I'm taking Curtis over, but I don't want him getting all worked up. Keep an eye on him, won't you?"

"You aren't staying?"

"Barbra... I don't work here, with these people... You do. You won't get in trouble if you hang around there a minute too long."

"I suppose..." She said, but I was already half way back to where Soda was, since I knew what the answer would be.

"Find him?" Soda asked when I approached him.

"Sure did. Just need to talk to you for a minute, then we'll go."

"Aw, come on, can't we talk later?" he asked, but I shook my head.

"I'm not sure you understand..." I started, and paused to make sure that didn't upset him. He was pretty emotional- I didn't want him thinking he was stupid on top of everything. "People who are here are severely injured, Soda. Steve isn't going to be the same. And you can't be upset either, because it won't do you any good, or him any good."

Soda was quite for a moment, then nodded. I realized I'd been talking far faster than normal.

"Alright."

I helped him back to his wheel chair, and pushed him over to the area which Barbra had indicated.

"Ready, Soda?" I asked.

A/N: I swear this will pick up, next chapter will be much more exciting, faster moving, and quicker to come up!


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: I'm extremely sorry that it's been years since this was updated- I would swear I updated last year, but... Evidently not. As a reward for everyone who has been patiently waiting, I've made this chapter super long, and angsty, and included... More people! I hope that this makes up for the ridiculous wait, slightly. Now, on to the story!

I poked my head inside the little tent, and saw an occupied bed at the far end. I'd have to check with him before bringing Soda in, but I was sure he'd have no objection- after all, he and Soda had been best friends for as long as I could remember.

"Just wait here," I told Soda, and took a step inside.

I walked slowly towards the end of the tent- it was only ten feet or so, but I felt like I was in a library, and that quiet was mandatory. Steve was the only one here- the tent only had four beds. It was the isolation tent- for people with special needs... I remembered what Barbra had said about Steve causing trouble, and couldn't help but think that a visit from his best friend might calm his nerves a bit.

"Steve?" I asked quietly, stepping beside his bed. He appeared to be sleeping on his side, facing away from me.

"Steve?" I asked a bit louder, and gently shook his arm.

I waited, not sure what to do. I doubted he'd been sleeping well- no one here did... And waking patients in need of sleep wasn't the best idea. Sleep aided healing just as well as any medication could. Still, Soda did want to see him, and he'd have to wake up soon for medication anyways- it was nearly three in the afternoon, and his nurse would be around soon.

"Steve?" I asked again.

"Get away from me," came a growled response. I froze- some of the guys here were a bit... Mad. Not sound in the head. From what Barbra had told me, I'd thought Steve had been having an anger problem, but...

"Get the fuck away from me!" He yelled, and before I could make a move he'd sat up and spun around, grabbed my wrist and pulled me close to his face. "Or, do you want to see the fuckin' freak show?"

I couldn't answer I was so terrified. He wasn't recognizable at all as the slick boy from Tulsa. The bandage that was supposed to be on his face had been torn off, and revealed the injury hidden beneath. It was as if someone had torn the skin off half his face, and replaced it with a red, raw, oozing material- from his hairline, right down his neck to where his skin disappeared beneath his shirt, he didn't even look human. It looked like something from some sort of a horror movie. The other half was uninjured, and the contrast added to my horror. That was what the other half should look like, but instead it looked like something from a butcher shop.

His grasp tightened on my wrist, and I saw him staring into my face, his one eye unfocused.

"I-" I tried to jerk my hand away, but he was too strong. I couldn't seem to form a sentence, or look away- it was just so grotesque... I'd seen peoples innards in surgery, but then the surgeon sewed them back up and you didn't have to look at it again... This- I'd never seen anything like this... "I- I- need..."

What did I need? To get away from him. I needed away- I needed to run out of there, and never look back. I needed to get so drunk that I'd never remember what I'd seen. I needed to go home, and cry in my mothers lap. How could people do this to each other? Maim, injure... Kill. Death had to be better than this- his injury looked so painful... I would never be able to live like that... Even when it healed, it wouldn't ever be the same. When the chart had said facial lacerations, I hadn't imagined this... I thought maybe a cut that would scar, or a shrapnel related injury.

I kept struggling to pull away from him, but before I could get away, he'd shoved me- hard. Even though he'd only grasped my one wrist with one of his hands, he had enough strength to send me sprawling onto the floor five feet from him.

"I know who you are, bitch."

I could feel myself shaking, and slowly pushed myself backwards, towards the door. I couldn't stand- I felt as if my legs might give out if I tried. I'd ran into some patients similar to this before- didn't want people around them- but they'd never effected me like this... Maybe it was because I knew who he used to be- I knew what he was like when he was just a boy stealing my best friends heart...

"I... no... I... just... I..." I stumbled across my words. I wanted to tell him Soda wanted to see him, but couldn't think. All I could see, or think about, was his mutilated face, and what he used to look like. He'd never been a Soda, but he'd always stood up well in comparison... Not anymore. Never again.

"I said," he said, no longer yelling. I'd have preferred he scream- his voice was deadly, and I could imagine him as someone who was capable of murder, "Get the fuck away from me!"

He was terrifying, and the thought that he could kill me spurred me on, and I climbed onto my feet, and ran from that tent as fast as I could, past Soda, and collapsed a few feet away, against a different tent. I could feel myself shaking, and the warmth of tears as they poured down my cheeks.

"Sandy?" Someone asked, and to my horror I looked up to see Doc Rossberg. I liked him- he was someone I could talk to, he was someone I felt was here to genuinely help these people, and not because he was forced to be… But I didn't want to see him. I didn't want him to help me! I was a nurse, I wasn't supposed to need help, I was supposed to be doing the helping.

"I'm fine," I said tearfully, and looked back down, hoping he'd take the hint and go away. He always caught me at the worse times and I just wanted him to go away.

I'd tried never to think about the people that came through here. They were patients, and I was their nurse, and it was as simple as that. We'd stitch them up, and they'd either go back to their units, or home. Those who went home would go back to their families, and it would be as if they'd never been here.

But that wasn't true. I'd always known it wasn't true, but I'd always been able to pretend it was. I didn't know the people passing through, so it was easy to treat them as faceless patients- because to me, they were… But now two of my former friends were thrust in front of me, and it erased the illusion.

I could see Soda coming through this ordeal fine. He had an injury that was severe enough, but he'd come through it as smiling, cheerful Soda- because Soda was the golden boy who could overcome everything.

I couldn't see the same happening for Steve. He'd never heal from this, and never be the same. All those people who passed through here didn't just go home and return to every day life.

"Sandy?"

This time I recognized the voice as Sodas, so I looked up again. He was standing in front of me, and the doctor was no where to be seen.

I quickly wiped my eyes: he didn't need to see me crying… But the thought that I couldn't let Soda see me cry made the tears come even faster. Back in Tulsa, I'd had no problem with crying in front of him, he'd been my rock, and I could tell him anything. Here though, it was supposed to be the other way around.

But it wasn't. He sat down beside me, and I went to move away, but before I could move an inch he had his arm around me and I was crying into his chest, clinging to him like a baby. I felt like a fool, but I couldn't stop, and I couldn't pull away.

"I hate this," I said quietly, grasping the front of his shirt with both fists. He rubbed my back, and it only made me sob harder. How could he be so kind to anyone, much less myself?

"I hate myself," I corrected, but I doubted he could understand me overtop of all my crying… But it was true: I hated myself right then, for all I'd done, and all I was doing. I hated myself for lying to him- at the time I'd thought it was a good idea to tell him that the baby wasn't his, but now I wasn't so sure. How would things be different if I'd just told him the truth? I hated myself for coming here, for trying to fix everything by fixing people. I hated myself for not being able to control my crying… And even more, I hated myself for accepting Sodas comfort. After all I'd done to him, I didn't deserve it.

I don't know how long I sat there and cried for, but the whole time he just rubbed my back and told me everything would be alright. I knew those were hollow words: things would never be alright, for either of us. I was sure we'd both seen things that we'd never thought we'd see, thought things we'd never thought we'd think, and done things we'd never thought we'd do.

After I could compose myself a little bit, I pulled myself up and looked into his face.

"There," he said calmly. "You alright?"

And that's when I knew I'd always loved him, and I always would. I'd always thought that I couldn't get over him because I'd left him with a lie; I'd thought that if I found him and told him the truth, I'd get the closure I needed to move on… But Sodapop Curtis wasn't someone you could move on from. He had my heart, and he always would.

I wanted nothing more than to tell him what was on my mind- I wanted it to be like a movie, where I told him I loved him, and he wrapped me in his arms, kissed me, and we never left each others side again.

"You shouldn't have gotten up," I told him instead. It was a far cry from what I wanted to say, but I'd broken his heart once, and couldn't give him the chance to do it to me. I wasn't strong like he was, I didn't think I could survive that kind of pain. He wasn't supposed to be straining himself, and I didn't see his wheelchair anywhere around- he didn't think he needed it, but rest was essential. It had only been a few days since he'd been wounded.

"I'm fine," he said, and I saw the look of worry in his eyes. "What happened?"

I couldn't tell him. I could barely wrap my own head around what had happened with Steve- it had happened so fast, and been so unexpected…

"He was sleeping," I told him. What was one more lie, on top of all the others I'd told him?

He glared at me. "Don't you lie to me," he told me, and it was if he could read my mind. "I was right there- I heard yelling."

Of course he'd hear yelling- that was a lie he'd see right through. These tents weren't exactly soundproof, and Steve had been pretty loud.

"He wasn't in a good mood," I told him, and shook my head. "That's the truth, Soda, he wasn't in a good mood, and he recognized me, and I didn't get the chance to tell him you wanted to see him." I didn't see any reason to add the detail of his mutilated face- that would only stress Soda out. There was no need to tell him that Steve pushed me, or that he was more than 'not in a good mood'.

Soda looked like he didn't believe me, but said nothing else on the matter. I was glad he dropped it- I didn't want to start crying like a fool again, and my emotions were right below the surface- it wouldn't take much for them to come back out.

I wiped my eyes, drying them. "Let me get your chair, and get you back to your room… Then I can write for you, if you'd like." I stood up.

He glared at me.

"I'm not a cripple."

I'd won this argument the last time we'd fought it, but I didn't want to risk him bringing the topic of Steve back up, so I let it go. A little exercise wouldn't hurt him anyways: he'd been cooped up in bed for a long, and as a fit, young man, that couldn't do him too much good.

"Let me help you, then," I told him. I reached a hand over to help him up, and he took it- with the use of only one arm, he needed a bit of help to get off the ground. As I helped him stand up, the cigarette case he'd had on his lap slid off and onto the ground, where it cracked open, face down.

"Let me get that," I told him at the same time he said, "Damnit."

We both reached for it, but being uninjured, smaller, and quicker, I grabbed it first, and picked it up. I went to snap it shut, but looked inside for a fraction of a second first. I paused.

There were three cigarettes inside, and behind them, a small brown piece of paper folded up in an envelope style.

"Oh," I said, and I felt my jaw dropping, and I nearly dropped the case back on the ground. I'd thought the case had been a gift, and that's why he kept it with him… Or maybe he just had a habit of carrying around, so he wouldn't lose it. The worst case scenario I had thought of was that maybe he kept it with him so that if he got the urge to smoke, he'd have it on hand. He hadn't been much of a smoker when I'd known him, but maybe he'd started smoking a lot more since then.

I didn't need to look any closer to know that all of my assumptions were horribly wrong. It wasn't cigarettes he was addicted to. I'd been around long enough to know that if I were to unfold that paper, inside would be a small amount of grey powder.

I felt my heart thumping so loudly I was surprised no one else could hear it. I had to be wrong- this had to be a mistake… Sodapop couldn't be addicted to heroin.


End file.
